Page 47 of The Enforcer's Possession
“You understand what you’re risking,” Papa said.Not a question.An observation.“The political fallout.The potential for retaliation against your family.Your business interests.”
“I understand perfectly.”Dante’s hand tightened at my waist.“And I’m willing to risk all of it to protect what’s mine.”
Mine.The word sent heat through me despite the tension of the moment.
Mama moved forward, her gaze on me instead of Dante.She reached out and touched my arm, her fingers cold.“Are you all right?”
The question was layered with meaning.Was I all right physically?Emotionally?Was I all right with what my husband had just done?With what it meant?
“I’m fine,” I managed.My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“Be careful,” she said softly.To me or Dante or both of us, I couldn’t tell.
Luca finally found his voice.“Cat.”He used my childhood nickname, the one he hadn’t called me in years.“If you need anything.If you ever need --”
“She has everything she needs.”Dante cut him off, not unkindly but firmly.“But thank you for your concern.”
The dismissal was clear.Luca’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and stepped back.
Papa watched this exchange with new calculation in his eyes.He was reassessing the power dynamics and realizing Dante wasn’t going to defer to him, wasn’t going to ask permission, wasn’t going to pretend this marriage was anything other than what it was -- total possession.
“One more thing.”Papa’s voice had hardened slightly, perhaps trying to reclaim some authority.“I hear you’ve signed a contract with Caterina.”
“That’s between me and my wife.”Dante’s tone didn’t invite argument.“But those terms don’t govern how I protect my wife.They don’t limit what I’ll do to anyone who threatens her.”
Papa held his gaze for three heartbeats, then nodded.A concession.
“Then I wish you both a good evening.”He stepped aside, clearing our path to the door.“Drive safely.”
We walked out into the night, Dante’s hand never leaving my body.His car waited in the circular drive.His driver stood at attention, opening the rear door as we approached.
Dante guided me into the back seat, then slid in beside me.The door closed, sealing us in leather-scented darkness broken only by the soft glow of the privacy screen controls.
The car pulled away from the Lombardi estate.I watched through the tinted windows as my childhood home receded into the distance, the windows glowing warm against the night sky.
Then I couldn’t see it anymore.
The silence stretched between us.I could hear my own breathing, hear the soft sound of expensive tires on asphalt, hear my heart hammering against my ribs with a rhythm that had nothing to do with fear.
My body still hummed with arousal I couldn’t shake, couldn’t rationalize away.Every time I closed my eyes I saw Dante’s hand on Marco’s, saw the clinical precision with which he’d broken bone and cartilage, heard Marco’s screams echoing in the dining room.
And God help me, it made me wet.
I pressed my thighs together harder, trying to manage the ache building there.Tried to focus on anything else -- the leather seats, the city lights passing outside, the soft music playing from hidden speakers.
Dante’s hand found mine in my lap.
The touch was gentle.Almost tender.Nothing like the violence he’d displayed earlier.He threaded his fingers through mine, his thumb tracing small circles against my palm.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
What was I supposed to say?Watching him break Marco’s fingers had turned me on more than anything in my life.I was both ashamed and aroused, caught between horror and hunger.Some dark part of me wanted him to prove his ownership again -- to feel his hands on me the way they’d been on Marco: controlled, brutal, and absolutely certain.
“I’m processing,” I said instead.
“Processing what, specifically?”
I turned to look at him.His expression was unreadable in the dim light, his eyes dark and focused entirely on me.Waiting for an answer I wasn’t sure how to give.
